


The Best Place To Cry

by AuthorToBeNamedLater



Series: Keeping Up With The Raptors [13]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Sports, Concussions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Head Injury, Hockey, Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood, Raptors, Seattle, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorToBeNamedLater/pseuds/AuthorToBeNamedLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The best place to cry is on a mother's arms.” - Jodi Picoult, HOUSE RULES</p><p>Even big scary hockey players sometimes need their mommies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Place To Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Even though there's no actual crying in here, the quote seemed to fit. This is a snippet that popped into my head but didn't fit anywhere in my "Mark-has-a-concussion" arc, so I made it its own story.
> 
> You don't have to read "Man Down" and "A Friend In Need" to understand this, but it won't hurt.

As a nurse and mother of a hockey player, Pam Shearer had patched up her share of boo-boos. She'd taken Mark to the ER for broken bones and stitches. She'd put ice packs on bruises and always kept at least two bottles of Advil in the medicine cabinet. Her family should probably have bought stock in Band-Aid. 

But until now, Pam had never met a boo-boo that neither she nor anyone else could fix.

Mark was improving. Steadily, but oh so slowly. Three weeks after the concussion he was mostly up and about. But he still fatigued easily, got occasional headaches, and was generally out of sorts. Mark was progressing, yes, but there was still no timetable for his return to the Raptors. Pam knew it was making her boy crazy. There was no cure for a concussion but time. Maybe a lot, maybe a little. Nobody could know for sure.

Pam softly pushed open the door to Mark's room to check on him, as had become her nightly ritual. She found him on his back clutching at his head.

“Mark!” Alarm jolted through Pam and she rushed to his bedside. “Sweetheart, what's wrong?”

Mark dropped his hands onto his stomach, and Pam could see that what had looked like pain at first was really just frustration. “I am so tired of this, Mom. I am just so tired of it.”

Pam sank into the folding chair next to Mark's bed. She was tired too, she wasn't going to lie. She was tired of watching her baby suffer, tired of being away from her husband, tired of the sleepless nights wondering if Mark would ever recover fully, and tired of everyone who was just focusing on _hockey._ Pam didn't care if Mark never touched the ice again. She just wanted him to be well.

“I know, sweetie.” Pam ran her hand over Mark's hair. “I know.”

Mark screwed his eyes shut. Pam waited a few seconds to give her son more time to vent if he wanted, but he just lay there taking deep, measured breaths as if he were trying not to explode.

Pam moved onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard. “Come here, Mark.”

“What're you doing?”

“I'm taking care of my son,” Pam said. “Something I've been doing pretty well for 20 years now, wouldn't you say?”

Mark sat up and curled against his mother, letting her rest one hand on his shoulder and the other on his head. Pam kissed his forehead and stayed there, cradling her boy's concussed head on her shoulder and running her fingers through his tangled hair, until long after Mark fell asleep.

If Mark had to be injured, Pam thought, at least she could be here to take care of him.


End file.
